Jesting with Fate
by Melpomene melancholica
Summary: drabbles and oneshots on Domjouji, Makino, and their friends
1. Wrenching Issues

1Disclaimers: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko, etc. Borrowing for entertainment purposes.

This is where I'll be stashing my random Hana Yori Dango drabbles and one-shots, mostly written for the Livejournal community 31days daily themes / writing prompts. Most of these pieces will be centered around Domyouji, Makino, and their roller coaster relationship. Thus, the title:

**Jesting with Fate**

Wrenching Issues

_November 1 / Things you've never seen_

15:34 103105

She was a pretty good student. How else would she have managed to enter Eitoku Gauken two years ago? Unfortunately, the past was good for nothing but reminiscing. Plain fact: she was unsalvageably distracted from school work.

Plop.

There it was again. She wrenched her grainy blood-shot eyes from her notes to glare at the kitchen sink. Fixing the faulty faucet had been in her to-do list for days, but the exams for the first term of her last year in high school were coming up. She was determined to excel this time, just because she could actually do so this term, without all the troublesome thrills threatening to erupt in her life unexpectedly. Enough said about that.

Of course, the leaky faucet insisted on intruding on her concentration. She had already gotten up to tighten it as far as she could with a rusty old wrench. The steady trickle was gone, replaced by a continual plop-plop that was intermittent but maddeningly unpredictable.

Ironically, she actually had to strain to hear each drop land on the cheap battened metal of the sink. Ah, but it was anticipating when the next drop hit that distracted her. She'd stare at the little bleb of water as it shyly peeped from the rim of the faucet... only to hang there suspended for i minutes /I before plopping down, defeated by gravity.

It was like talking with Domyoji on the phone.

After the excited flurry of greetings, the initial recap of significant happenings on their respective lives, there came the pockets of silences. Just breathing on the other side of the line—weren't they wasting their precious minutes? Ah, but it didn't feel like that really. Though of course, being her thrifty self, those pauses had made her anxious the first few calls. She used to try to fill up those silences, but now she let them be, quietly breathing with him till one of them thought of something to say.

But what was wrong with that anyway? When they walked together before, weren't there long moments when neither of them spoke? When she just walked and moved among the routine motions of the rest of the world, feeling his presence, his light grip on her hand, the subtle brush of his arm against hers. And the light bantering was not lost over the ocean and the continent separating them. She still got red-faced, yammering a mile a minute as she tried to dispute this silly thing or that.

What she missed most were his eyes and the contentment that came when she could almost read the depths of those brown orbs----almost. In actuality, she thought, maybe its more like they're synchronizing when they stare at each other. She was merely feeling the same emotions as he was at the exact moment their eyes met, and it was their resonance that warmed her cheeks.

"Gah!"

Peckish, Makino staggered to her feet. The folding table overturned, spilling her books and notes on the floor. She ignored it for the time being and headed outside the apartment to rummage among the odds and ends the neighbors stashed in the empty backlot. She came back, disheveled, carrying the old tools and a tiny package from the hardware store she dropped by yesterday.

"I'm changing it, all right?" she announced to the room in general. "I fixing the idiot washer that wore out!"

True to itself, her luck deterred her from finishing her chore once again. At that moment, the phone rang, and the rusty old wrench was left forgotten by the leaky faucet.

1900something


	2. Sisterly Advice

1Disclaimers: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko, etc. Borrowing for entertainment purposes.

Sisterly Advice

_November 4 / Why I'm not where you are_

The ringing came to his ear like the grumbling of his subordinates during the bantering that preceded board meetings. It irritated him---he was ready to burst, dammit! She was taking too long to answer. Was she being deliberately annoying?

"Nguar..?"

"Nee-san? It's me."

Throat clearing. "Tsukasa? Geeze, do you have any idea---"

"Yeah, it's 4am there. Never mind that. I had an epitome."

"..."

Did she fall asleep on him This soon? "Neesan? You there?"

"...Don't you mean 'epiphany?'"

"Shut up. I'm in a hurry. Meeting in five and I have classes after. It's gotta be now."

"..."

"Neesan? Hey, don't hang up. This is important!" What was she doing! He had a very important question that need answering ASAP. Didn't she realize he was sweating ice right now? Why else was he calling her that early?

"I'm here," her voice came, this time clearer. "Was just imagining how nice it must be to kick you in the head right now. I think I'll fly over there tomorrow and do just that."

"...Damn you."

"Hurry up, Tsukasa, It's a good thing my husband's overseas today. Can't you ever think before you leap?"

"Leap? What am I a frog? Listen, I just realized something. Tell me if I'm right. If I become CEO of Domyoji Enterprise, my main role would be to listen to complaints, right?"

There was a startled pause from the other end. "How amazingly perceptive of you," his sister murmured.

"Was that a yes?" he demanded.

"Well, you can put it that way."

"In that case, I'm quitting! I wonder if Kazuya'd go into squid fishing with me... That might be good business. Or Makino'd have ideas. Common people ideas, but I don't even ca---"

"Eh? Have you lost your mind, Tsukasa?"

"I'm telling you! That's it, I'm going home right now. This is stupid. Is this the man I'm supposed to become? What's so great about listening to all those common people bitch? Then, I do what?"

Tsubaki yawned. "Baka, you tell them what to do."

"What the hell do I care about common people's problems?"

"Well, there's the Japanese economy for one thing..."

He scowled. It always went down to that eventually. "Why would they listen to me?" he asked instead. Of course, they should listen to Domyoji Tsukasa, but still... He wasn't delusional enough to believe everybody would. After all, a certain somebody had already proven otherwise.

"Because you're in charge."

He snorted.

"Direction's very important in life. I thought you've noticed that, at least." Ah, his sister seemed to think it was the simplest thing in the world. Well, he didn't!

"You're telling me that I can go around ordering bullcrap and they'll listen to me?"

"...Haven't you been doing that for a long time now? What's the matter? Getting cold feet?"

"Shut up. I'm serious!"

"Well?"

"Argh!"

"It's your company, idiot. And you'll be in charge. The answer's obvious."

"Hah? But I just want them to shut up! Why me?"

Tsubaki sighed. "Isn't that why you're training and everything?"

Tsukasa was silent for a few moments. "Neesan," he said seriously. "I'm not built for this."

"You think? Towering confidence, solid presence, strength, pushiness, sheer pigheaded contrariness. Did I miss anything?"

Another pause. "Bah," he said, disgusted. "They're starting. I'm hanging up."

"You're welcome, idiot."

22:05 110205


	3. Ordinary

1Disclaimers: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko, etc. Borrowing for entertainment purposes.

Ordinary

_November 8 / Lost to the crush of anonymity_

2257 110805

It was like drowning in a sea of faces. Of course, she was used to being jostled around by waves of people, but still it was different today. The faces around her were as varied as the countless lights that lit up Times Square. The holiday season had come and with the usual flock of tourists came the late Christmas shoppers. It was no surprise that they had to wait a while for their turn with one of the cashiers.

Makino Tsukushi stared at the droopy eyes of the stuffed toy she was holding. Scratching the long flapping ears, she relished the soft feel of the velvety fur against her fingers.

"But he really is so cute," she murmured. "I must name him. Maybe I'll call him New York. But people will think I want to take a bath every time I say his name. Maybe I should just call him Bath, then."

"Bath?" Beside her, Domyoji Tsukasa snorted. "So you've given that toy a gender, and now you want to give it a name."

"Well, it's certainly not going to say its gender for me," she said airily. "It's not my fault you're scared of real dogs."

"I'm not! Besides, if I give you a real puppy, you'd be too poor to feed it."

"Hey!"

"I should have gotten the biggest one, though," Domyoji said, frowning.

"Oh, but this is fine." Makino hugged the stuffed toy to herself. "It's almost as big as my pillow, as it is."

"Yeah, but the biggest one's almost as big as me."

She blushed prettily. "Ah..." she stammered. "B-but I can pretend this is you, too."

"...Don't say that in a brightly lit public place," he complained with a groan and hid his red face. "I can't do anything to you."

Of course, that didn't help her at all. "Really, too big that other stuffed toy," she prattled to cover her nervousness. "This one's more portable. I can bring it with me when I go out of town. I can take it to bed with me, too. Besides, how am I suppose to bring that huge dog home? And it wouldn't even fit through our apartment door. Really, Domyoji, I love this one already."

"Fine," he sighed.

A few minutes later, they were stuck in front of the several-story toy store, waiting for the chance to cross the street, she with one arm clutching her plastic bag against her side and he with one arm clutching her against his side. The temperature had dropped considerably, since they had gone inside the toy store. The icy wind was getting stronger, too, and they said it might snow tonight...

She looked around avidly, of course, because today she could relax without the tension of being alone in this huge city of the world, without the heaviness of loss and heartache weighing down her every step. He looked at her because he had seen these streets before, with its blazing lights and towering buildings, its constant hum of melded conversations and intermittent honking of irate drivers, its signs and advertisements splashed everywhere, and it's enormous screens that showed various materials----world news, pop stars, beer commercials, etc. He filled his eyes with more important sights.

"Domyoji." She turned to him as she spoke, meeting his gaze. "Remember that baseball game in Japan? When we had our uniform date?"

"Nope."

"It's when your moth—"

"Idiot. Of course, I remember."

She ignored that. "I can now easily imagine how she saw our faces on TV. All these screens..."

"Actually, I think we're just unlucky like that. Always getting interrupted and crap. I made sure that won't happen today, so don't worry."

Again, she flushed, but mentally reasoned it was due to the cold. "You know what? I felt so anonymous that day, too. Anonymous, ordinary, and unseen. Who knew my face was being flashed around the world several times an hour?"

"Ordinary and unseen. Like today?"

"Uhuh. It feels nice."

He seemed puzzled. "But you've never experienced the other way around, anyway."

"You—!" Vindictively, she punched his side.

"You violent woman," he muttered nursing his belly. "At least don't hit other people."

"Oh, it's Domyoji Tsukasa being all considerate to other people. Amazing!"

"Bah, if I get arrested beating up people, our night together'd be interrupted. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

"Of course, not." She slipped her hand in his and crossed the street as the pedestrian green light came on.

They walked in silence for a while.

"The stock report," Domyoji suddenly said.

"Eh?" He was looking off somewhere over her head, at the marquee on a building that flashed numbers in red. "What was that?"

"Hmmm..." He was frowning. "Good enough, I guess, considering the bear market."

Makino goggled at him. "Wow. I've never been able to figure that out and you seem to really know your stuff. Wow."

"Why so many 'wow?'"

"Well, you are you, you know..."

"...You damned—"

"But really, I'm so glad you're learning all these new things. Uwah, I feel oddly proud."

"Of course, it's easy for me. I've had eisei education."

"It's eisai. Eisa!" She shook her head, laughing ruefully. "Still the same Domyoji."

"Bah."

"That makes me happy, too." And she curled up against him as another blast of wind came.

"Come home with me tonight?" he murmured to her as he held her close.

"Nah," Makino answered in the same hushed tone. "I don't want to impose."

"In that case, I'll impose on you."

"Baka, you can't. I'm sharing a hotel room with school mates. And we'd be off early tomorrow. Besides... we shouldn't talk about parting just yet."

He gazed at her wordlessly for a few moments. "Aa. So what do you want to do now?"

"I don't really know."

"It's your idea to have a common people date in Manhattan."

"I don't live here, so I have no idea what they do."

"Well, I'm certainly not common. You know."

"Oh, do I?" She blew him a raspberry.

"You wanna watch Broadway? I know common people do that."

She made a face. "Nah. Let's just walk around. I want to see the Golden Boy and that big Christmas tree."

"Food first. I'm hungry," he decided and Makino's stomach seconded loudly.

"Me, too," she said, thought he probably heard her stomach agree already. "Where are we eating? Remember, common people food!"

Domyoji smiled. "I know just the place."

He led her to a little Japanese food mart nestled between a high-class restaurant and a jam-packed night club and bought commercially prepared sushi and canned drinks, which they ate sitting on tall wooden stools. Contentedly stuffed and a little bit warmer, they came out an hour later.

Alone and together, they swam back to the sea of faces.

00:17


	4. the ending and the beginning that is a y

1Disclaimers: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko, etc. Borrowing for entertainment purposes.

the ending and the beginning that is a yes

_March 1 / Yes is a pleasant country_

1719

Maturity, or its semblance—how mature was mature, anyway?—made them more honest these days. He didn't feign calmness, didn't wait for her to leave before howling his jubilation. She didn't giggle behind closed doors as his child-like reaction tugged at her heart. These she remembered from a similar but oh-so-different scenario of five years ago.

Back then, his excitement after he received her 'yes,' to date him transformed him into a little boy. (The little boy he had been like many, many times over the time she had known him, the momentary descents of his mental age, was sometimes maddeningly infuriating, sometimes heart-wrenchingly endearing, sometimes impossibly both at the same time.) Back then, it had made her laugh in amusement.

Now, his triumphant whoop made her burst into tears. (They were happy tears, ecstatic, even, and they traveled down from the side of his neck where her crimson face was buried, traced his shoulder muscles as they locked in contraction when he clasped her to him as tightly as bodily possible, and soaked into the starched, tailored shirt he had just put on for another busy work day.) He had asked her yesterday, certainly a much more decent proposal than the one over ramen from before their long separation.

...Or was it a year ago he asked her?

To make the long story short, it took her some time to decide, but he had waited patiently (as patiently as the great Domyoji Tsukasa ever waited) and she had gone to him herself when she was finally ready to speak her mind.

And heart. Never ever forget it was the heart that spoke in the case of such matters.

1749


	5. roses are weak

1Disclaimers: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko, etc. Borrowing for entertainment purposes.

Roses are weak

_April 10 / We used to be friends, a long time ago _

13:30 091006

It came and went; the glance was passing. To be more precise about it; it was she who glanced his line of vision, like the basketball bouncing off the ground in response to the laws of physics. Nothing else would induce him to look willingly at her, as his royal eyeballs would rupture at the noxious sight of her dirty, destitute visage.

That asshole.

She tried to scowl and failed miserably. There was something lodged between her eyebrows, something that prevented the muscles of her forehead from contracting. To think she used to be so good at this, too, returning his arrogant animosity glare for glare, insult for insult. Now, it seemed, with his finally leaving her alone, she was missing the mortal enmity she shared with Domyouji Tsukasa.

You see, without adversity to contend with, Makino Tsukushi wilted just like every other rose.

1350


	6. confusions to his world

1confusions to his world

_April 11 / meaningful violence_

1400 091006

Somewhere out there, rivulets of livid purple etched themselves upon the sky. Unable to take the pressure, it gradually cracked open to release rain water in violent bursts. The sporadic deluge had been lambasting the lowly earth for a time now, and it seemed like any second now, the heavens would break open and simply expire in exhaustion.

(That the somewhere was actually just outside, he remembered, and that it was a little early in the year for thunderstorms.)

He didn't care.

His attention was riveted by the ringing in his ears, the spreading warmth stinging his cheek, and of course, the bristling, hyperventilating ball of ire in front of him.

He recovered.

"What the HELL was that for?" he demanded.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Try no?"

The veins on her forehead were popping out rather dangerously.

"H-hey, I can buy truckloads of that." His retort was rather defensive, in spite of himself. "And if I want to track mud in it, I can and I will!"

"Never mind the damn carpet," she said impatiently. "Where the HELL were you?"

The rain-soaked, bedraggled CEO and president of the international Domyouji financial group stared at his wife in disbelief, his usually fierce brown eyes bugged out rather comically. "What?"

Meaningfully, she kicked him.

Tsukasa yelped. "I went to buy your stupid pickled plums, geeze!" he said as he plunked to the floor with a plop. "Damn you and your whims, you violent woman."

"P-pickled plums!" Tsukushi sputtered. "But–! Somebody else could have done that."

"What 'somebody'?" She had given the servants the weekend off.

Her flabbergasted expression was replaced by one of self-righteous dignity. "And may I remind Domyouji-sama of his garage-full of cars?"

"Ore-sama can't drive," he pointed out. "He usually doesn't need to." She had given _all_ the servants the weekend off.

His wife of four years stood there for a while as he nursed his shin, seemingly trying to find fault in his line of reasoning, seemingly finding none. Absently, she stroked her fulsome belly as her expressive eyes trained the splotched skies outside. She was simply adorable in one of his old shirts and mismatched socks (waste not was still her motto), and he found his hurt anger fading with the soreness of his very recently acquired battle injuries.

"What's the matter?" he spoke up with a smirk. "Figured out how sorry you are yet?"

"Not really," she murmured thoughtfully. "Thanks to your kid blocking the way, I can't lift my foot high enough to kick your face." She frowned. "But if I try to break your jaw with my knee, that'll be a little too much, and I wasn't really _that_ worried..."

"..."

"Come on and change out of those wet clothes, you idiot," her voice floated behind her as she waddled away. "And don't forget those plums."

Tsukasa sighed profoundly. My, but even he could admit to it: Tsukushi scared him a lot these days. Why? He didn't really know, but he'd bet that belly pugnaciously sticking out of her had something to do with it.

Heh. Confusions to the world.

1430


	7. water and herbicide

1Disclaimers: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko, etc. Borrowing for entertainment purposes.

water and herbicide

_April 21/ the rain my drink_

00:04 042006

Melancholy was a luxury—birthday or not—and she struggled gamely to break out of it, a rather hard thing to do when one's less responsible friends mixed alcohol and outrageously expensive food into one messy tureen of escapism. The two hedonists were on the dance floor carousing shamelessly with the standard issue party girls, while Shigure and Hanazawa Rui slept in one corner, the former being drunk and the latter being himself. (Yuki-chan couldn't stay long.)

Somberly, she raised her bloodshot eyes, looking out the glazed window, out into the night. Water glistened on the glass, appropriately tear-like. It was raining.

On impulse she flew to the outside, dodging the scantily clad socialites. Wonderingly, she stood under the evening shower, watched the sky gradually clear up as its fluffy load fell to earth. Singly or doubly, the stars began to peep through.

It was sad when the heavens cried. She found herself weeping with the stars, but she also found that they were tears of solemn joy, a serenity that stemmed just from being.

After all those days of tension (her thesis, her tuition, her brother's tuition, the rent, her sick father, the market inflation, the neighbor's cat roadkilled), she laughed, and it was sweet as rain, sweet as melancholy. The memories that flowed with the rainwater weren't all happy, but it warmed her all the same. Deeply. Fiercely.

"Oi, Tsukushi!" called a voice. "Tsukasa's on the line."

"What?" she quipped impishly. "It's raining in New York, too?"

"How should I know?" It was Nishikado. "He definitely sounds apologetic and kiss-ass, though."

"The great Domyouji? Kiss ass?" She laughed again. "Yeah, right. And technically, it isn't my birthday anymore."

"Just take the phone. You're weirder when drunk."

"I'm not!" It may take poison to neutralize poison, she thought, alcohol versus herbicide, but it was still water that cleansed and scrubbed one squeaky clean. "Not any more."

"Then get out of the rain," said Mimasaka, bandying a towel in her direction. "It disturbs us sane folks."

She sighed and went back into the den of vices, soaked in water, the universal solvent.

00:35

Note: Realized Makino's birthday falls on December after this was written. Too late. /


	8. external brakes rated M

1Disclaimers: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko, etc. Borrowing for entertainment purposes.

External Brakes

_May 13 / Love passed into the House of Lust_

1600 051406

The aromatic smell of burning wood lulled her into a sated half-doze. Dinner was just over and, while most of the gang chose to linger over their crusted-over dessert (pies with the finest of the season's apples) and booze to further mellow the company, Makino Tsukushi followed her fiancé into his makeshift office and was currently slouched in a leather sofa with half-a-dozen overstuffed pillows. It was still fascinating to watch him while he did his work, all stern and earnest, and grown-up and, well. . . awfully manly. Really, it was quite a contrast from his usual image of imperial brattiness.

The four years they've been apart weren't as bad as they had both expected. There had been phone calls often enough and email as much as they wanted ("Makino, I want to kick my bitchy confessor's goat face. Pray I miss 'coz I probably won't." And, "Domyouji, I think you meant professor. Don't do it.") and very rarely outings like this wherein the F4 dragged her for overseas visits where the two of them could see each other for a few hours. It's been a year since Tsukasa got his degree and he's been free for the most part. He fulfilled his promise to go back for her, but they were older now: a little more realistic, a little more patient. . . She would be following him back to New York this time, but under her own terms; a few years' internship waited for her at a huge pharmaceutical corporation and after that, who knew?

It was actually Tsubaki-neesan who spearheaded this trip. She wanted time with Tsukushi and had invited her over to their rest house in Canada, just two sisters, cozy. Then the others happened to be free too and before she knew what was going on, so was Tsukasa.

Or perhaps he wasn't as free as he vehemently stated when he surprised them all by showing up at the front door a couple of hours past midnight yesterday. He was looking stressed out right now, a rather severe grimace on his face as he massaged away an impending migraine.

In spite of herself, Tsukushi felt suddenly lonely.

Tsukasa lowered his hands to look at her.

"What's the matter?" he asked her gruffly.

"Nothing," she replied. Realizing she sounded a tad defensive, she squirmed in her seat. Sometimes, the man was so perceptive it unnerved her.

He gazed at her for a thinly stretched second, the play of shadows and firelight adding mystery to his already undecipherable expression. Then he drew a hand through his curls and motioned for her imperiously with the other.

"What?" Tsukushi asked irritably, fighting the rising flush off her cheeks. "What's with—" She aped his beckoning gesture with exaggerated imperialness. "I'm not a dog."

"Come here," he said. "If you make me get up, I'll maul you like one."

"Geeze. . . So rude!" But she got up, anyway.

She stood before him with her arms crossed, diminutive in a borrowed sweater one size too big and Shigure's sweatpants that sat precariously low on her hips.

"Well."

Tsukasa stood and picked her up in a single sweep, then plopped them both back into the sofa she had just vacated.

"What are you doing?" she yelped.

"Getting settled," he answered with a grunt as he arranged her on his lap.

"After that obviously!"

For an answer, he bowed his head and took her lips. As usual, she had trouble thinking of an appropriate comeback to that.

Infuriating!

She wriggled in her seat to try to get to a more comfortable position. Failing that, she rose to her knees and straddled him. He pulled her back down by her nape as he deepened the kiss, his other hand coming to rest at the small of her back. The exploration of her mouth was slow and lazy, as was the travel of his hand as it sneaked under the voluminous folds of wool to feel her warming skin. Finding the situation utterly unfair, her hands descended from their purchase on his stubborn hair and began to fumble with buttons.

Eventually, she was able to slide his shirt off his shoulders, but by then his lips had moved on to lavish her neck, placing her again at disadvantage. To avenge herself, she bit the exposed bit of his muscular shoulder. He gasped deliciously, a very un-Ore-sama sound, and she giggled against his flesh. Not allowing her that little victory, he took her face between his hands and proceeded to bruise her lips with bold strokes of his tongue, their contact rapturous, rising bliss. However, that still left her hands free, and they roamed the tough plains of his broad chest, the ridges of his pliant torso, the tantalizing dips that hinted the paths to his groin. . .

Somehow, that became not enough soon.

She left his body's topography alone only because she couldn't quite remove her sweater with just one hand. The frustration ripped at her, for she wanted more closeness, more contact—were it possible to dive into his being she would have, and then they would be in just one space, even if it were just a single tiny spot in creation, as long as they were together and one, shared.

He was stopping her.

She mewled angrily and slapped his hand away. With persistence, he kept her shirt from getting off her body. Dazed, his fiancee finally sensed something amiss, finally noticed when he detached himself from her unwillingly.

Tsukushi opened her eyes to see several pairs of eyes peering at her from a wide open doorway. She blushed violently—or rather, the red of her face became a more intense shade—and buried her face against her boyfriend's chest.

"Domyouji," she agonized. "How long. . .?"

"Not long," replied Nishikado clinically. "She had just opened the door without knocking."

"Spoiled brat, no manners," added Mimasaka, pointing at Shigure.

"I'm sorry!" wailed the eccentric heiress. "I didn't realize–!"

"Oh, I'm not complaining," drawled Sakurako, eyeing the half-naked Tsukasa.

The other girl hesitated. "Well— The polite thing to do would be to close the door again."

"But they're dry humping," pointed out Nishikado as if that explained everything.

Mimasaka glared at him in disgust. "Thanks a lot," he groaned. "What a nasty way to put things."

"The point is, we have an obligation here."

"Yeah. Leave."

"No. They said they're going to wait till they're married. That doesn't look safe to me." Nishikado pointed at the compromised position of the silent couple. "I mean, dude, I don't care what they do, but since they're both incurably romantic, wedding night bonanza and all that, I am compelled as their friend to put a foot down."

"But it's none of our business!" Mimasaka yelped.

"Techinically, it's not, but since it's their self-imposed restriction, we do have to look out for them. They are such kids, really."

Just then, a new head poked in on the fiasco.

"What's going on here?" asked Rui with a yawn. He opened his eyes wider and looked into the room. "Oh. That." He turned and shuffled back out of sight. "Good night, you two."

"'Night," said Tsukasa, but continued to stare at the others coldly.

"Yeah, good night," Mimasaka said hastily and firmly closed the door. Behind it, he could be heard irately overruling the protests of Nishikado and Sakurako.

A few moments later, Tsukasa spoke again.

"Your friends are so damn annoying," he said with an exasperated sigh.

"They were your friends first," she pointed out.

He snorted.

"I suppose I should get off you now."

"Yeah, I need to take a shower," Tsukasa growled.

"Cold?"

"Icy."

"You started it," she accused.

"I warned you about a mauling."

"Ugh."

"'Night."

"Good night."

They parted, but not without another extended goodnight kiss.

2318 051406


	9. there's always next time

Disclaimers: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko, etc. Borrowing for entertainment purposes.

There's Always Next Time

_October 9 / Everyday is the end of the world_

Within the classroom, it was bleak. The clock loomed over their heads, took its sweet time to crawl to the next hour. The fluorescent lamps glared over their shoulders to sharpen the mathematical equations to accusing clarity: at least, get a couple of us, simpletons. Outside was no better, no ego bolster. The skies sagged sullenly, ready to crack open at the slightest provocation. None of them dared to whine.

Irritated, Makino Tsukushi finished her exam, resigning herself to mediocre results. Her attention was being tugged at by a spoiled brat who definitely didn't deserve it. And she had fought so often with the jerk—it's like all they do—that she found it even more annoying that she couldn't regain her ruined peace of mind after it. The spat was just over some useless, senseless thing. The usual.

She left her classroom and absently walked the halls of Eitoku, still lost in her inner rants. That guy was unbelievable, an absolute caveman. Simplistic but hard to predict, just when she thought she had demarcated the maximum ridiculousness he was capable of, he'd break the record with something ten times more idiotic.

That unreasonable bastard.

She quickly sighted his curly head in the cafeteria, for he easily stood out even while seated, and tapped him on a shoulder.

"Hey."

"What?" he snarled, bristling as he sent a half of a glare her way.

"I'm talking to you again."

He blinked; he faltered. His wide brown eyes shimmered with something unreadable, something that made her smirk his smirk in spite of herself.

"Scoot over," she commanded, plunking herself on the seat beside him. (The rest of F4 were interestingly out of sight for the moment. Probably gave him wide berth while he moped.)

"Heh," he finally spoke. "I knew you'd come running for ore-sama sooner or later."

Makino gnashed her teeth, but let it pass: there was always a next time.

23:30


	10. S C A R

Disclaimers: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko, etc. Borrowing for entertainment purposes.

Summarized Chronicles of Adventuresome Romance

(Or S.C.A.R. for short)

_dormant muses challenge #1: semi-autobiographical writing_

Unlike the last time Makino Tsukushi decided to visit her idiot of a boyfriend an ocean and a continent away, which was more than three years ago, she didn't precipitously just decide to embark on this one. In fact, it wasn't exactly she who decided to visit, being that she was both too penniless and too busy to even dream of such a vacation. Maybe if she had been proactive enough to even try making such a reunion happen (and she was Tsukushi the weed: she _could_ make things happen, granted it took a plethora of pain and suffering on her part), the hands of Fate wouldn't have been forced into plopping her yet again in dire circumstances.

Then again, the said hands of Fate were apparently under the influence of her pigheaded boyfriend a.k.a. King of the World, so she gave up dwelling on the chain of misfortunes she had undergone to get where she was. After all, she was already there—within strangling distance of one Domyouji Tsukasa. Her fingers twitched, with a sudden, hideous purpose. Only barely did she stamp down the spastic, possibly slightly homicidal, urge to pull him into a headlock.

He had enough of an instinct for self-preservation to flinch when she directed her glare to his direction. "What?" he snapped.

"Just do it already," she intoned in a deathly tone.

His brown eyes could have popped out of their sockets in his surprise. She was tempted to shove them back in with two mittened fingers. "Do what?" he demanded.

"Whatever is next in your grand script of adventuresome romance." She fixed her arms akimbo and rose to her full height. "You're going to jump into the icy river, right? Tell me you can't live without cruel indifferent me? Or maybe I should _push_ you in, then later mourn over your frozen, fish-eaten corpse till you've thawed enough to stink. Bet it would thrill your pigheaded ghost to hear how much I regret murdering you in cold blood, huh? Huh?!"

"I brought you here to cool down!" he protested, moving away from the black metal railing in spite of himself. "Jumping into rivers. . . fish-eaten Ore-sama. You and your weird ideas!"

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm _freezing_ already! And it's 'cool off,' you idiot. Don't even try being funny."

"I'm not being funny!"

"You think?!" she shrieked. "Do I look like I'm laughing right now?"

"Why are you so angry?" he asked irritably. "You ungrateful woman, you. I took a lot of pains to symphonate all this, and this is the kind of treatment I get?"

"It's orchestrate!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "Orches—never mind. Gah!"

She pivoted with an emphatic humph and promptly connected against the stone steps. They were still pretty hard despite the fluffy layer of newly-fallen snow, as her tail bone discovered, even though she didn't actually impact the ground as hard as she should have. Domyouji had caught her by the armpits as she was going down, and it was this way she dangled awkwardly, half-sitting, the heels of her sneakers supporting the weight he wasn't. She used his frame to steady herself as she stood up, shooed him away, and continued down her path with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere."

"You know where that is?"

"I'll figure it out!"

Her unwanted companion sighed ostentatiously. "I guess, I'd have to go with you," he said in a bored tone. "Since you're the type of person who always gets in trouble."

"Do whatever you want."

---

Yesterday was mundane enough. She had successfully crammed a five-page essay demonstrating the efficacy of hypnosis as a treatment for warts, a writing exercise from an eccentric professor the night before and was about to embark on to seven-hours of school. She had a more high-paying part-time job, nowadays, but she still helped out in the dango shop for old time's sake, and that was where she was leaving from that morning.

Her planned day didn't progress much thereafter. Enter men in black suits and a fancy high-end car; obviously, it was another kidnaping.

Hers.

There was nothing much she remembered till she had woken up in a sparsely-furnished room, in a bed so hedonistically soft, she was practically embedded in the fluffy layers of mattress padding. The night gown she found herself in, though modestly-cut, was flimsy enough to tear when she accidentally stepped on it, as she was scrambling out of the sea of luxuriant white sheets. A sheer burgundy panel fluttered from the high ceiling, undulating over a wide spanning window. (It was underneath an air-conditioning vent.)The breathtaking mixture of grays, a light forlorn shade for the skies and a dark gritty one for the jungle of buildings, mixed with the ocher of brick buildings, was unmistakably foreign.

Tottering about in a panicky daze, Tsukushi nearly tripped down some steps coming away from the bed, which was elevated by a dais of sorts. In the middle of the room was a slender table of wrought metal, its black striking against the monochrome of white all else. It reached to her chest. On it was single. . . what else? A rose. It was so vividly red, she stared at it a good minute before picking up the accompanying envelope: instructions, apparently.

_A challenge to the Weed-girl: Right now, you are in a shining Citadel in the City of the World. Soon, you will be ushered out of this stronghold and into the chaos of the commoner world. Enclosed is a map and some pocket change. Ride the Underground Dragons and seek your price in the Village of Commerce. Your handsome and mighty Prince awaits you!_

With the note was a map of the New York City subways, translated in Japanese, littered with little caricatures labeled with "you are here" (an SD rendition of a snoring her) and "the finish line" (a question mark enclosed by a heart). There was also an inch-thick pile of newly-minted hundred dollar bills.

"P-pocket change?" Tsukishi spluttered. "You've got to be kidding me."

There was a post-script at the bottom of the note, she then noticed.

_P.S. You better be outta there by 9. The old hag's coming back from Japan today. Ore-sama._

Tsukishi looked at the clock in horror: it was 08:53.

Needless to say, it took one hell of a scramble to be able to leave the condo unit before the dreaded nine o'clock deadline. She barely paid attention to clothes set out for her, fixated with the need to be as far away as possible from Domyouji Kaede. (She actually slept in Domyouji Kaede's bed?!) The first thing she did upon reaching the ground floor was fall on her face in exhaustion, having ran down ten flights of stairs before deciding to take the elevator for the last seven floors. Waving away the alarm of the doorkeeper, she laughed a tad hysterically and exited the building at a dead run.

The moment she reached asphalt, she careened to a stop. Several reasons why, really: 1) a ferocious gust of wind froze her on the spot, 2) seeing the people walking around her brought home how horribly overdressed she was, and 3) she really was in New York City.

"This is unbelievable," she wailed, reeling from the massive readjustment her brain was undergoing, placing the misplaced thousands of miles and twenty-something hours.

She started from her funk, instantly recovering, and groped for the provided map in her pockets.

"Domyouji, that insane bastard," she muttered, further incensed by the idiotic caricatures she would have found endearing were she not lost in an immense city, after being kidnapped and smuggled into it, no less.

With some difficulty, she was able to orient herself. She stared at the map and compared them with the street signs. Her directions she figured out by scrambling from one block to the next, and back again when she struck wrong. She figured her furry, many-buckled attire wasn't so out there, after all, since the bustle of people didn't stop to gape at her nor give her more than the usual cursory glance.

The cold was deadly, however, and she thanked her lucky stars she had forgone the stiletto-heeled boots poised at the foot of the bed, even though her old battered sneakers weren't appropriate with her black, skin-tight body suit or the fluffy-collared coat of some insanely soft, luxuriant material. It was hard enough walking on the wet pavement; the snow seemed to disintegrate on contact with the ground and didn't seem to be building up yet. . .

She managed a glance at the Empire State building, as instructed in her caricatured map, quite a ways from where she was but still visible. There was a university nearby, apparently, and she guessed most of the people she was seeing were students. She wondered whether that was the school Domyouji went to.

She had a hell of a time finding the subway station she needed to go to, however. Even though her English had improved bounds after college (and the F3 mercilessly tutoring her) she wasn't quite up to interrupting some random person's brisk pace to stammer some likely incoherent question. Plus, she learned quite quickly that the more relaxed pedestrians were usually tourists, as well—which was not to say she counted herself as a _tourist_. She's victim here, she maintained.

Eventually, she did find it, managed to get into the right train, the yellow N train, just as the door started closing, and almost died when she realized she didn't even bother to check whether that train was going to the right _direction_.

Another panicked scramble for the map ensued. She compared it to the electronic diagram that blinked the train's current position in its itinerary and managed to figure that she was indeed on the right track (no pun intended) after the first stop. She was no stranger to crowds and the shifting influx of people, so that wasn't a problem. She did stop to curiously watch the one-man band playing at one bend of the tunnel that led out of the station, the one she got off at as instructed by his Highness, Ore-sama. People didn't seem to think much of him, but she found his music quite lively.

And then she was back to the maze of streets and buildings and people. There was more snow on the ground now, and a couple of times, the gust of wind practically stilled her erratic, searching steps. There was a huge complex that was fenced around, and seemed to be blocking the way she was supposed to follow, a construction site, she figured. She wandered about it, trying to figure out where she could slip through, till she finally followed a group of very solemn people, listening to a tour guide. Then, she found herself in a glass-enclosed walkway, that overlooked the massive closed-off area. It was half-cleared of rubble and occupied by heavy machineries at work. This was the Ground Zero marked on the caricature map, a site of tragedy from a few years back. She stood silent in contemplation, forgetting momentarily her colorful homicidal fantasies.

When her eyes went back to focus, she saw the bronzed sign over the doorway in front of her (which was suspiciously devoid of people, by the way.) World Financial One, it said, and her eyes widened in realization.

She was there.

She was there in that beautiful place that was destined to be the crime scene for a certain almighty person's violent murder!

She slunk away sheepishly upon noticing a harried-looking man and his triumvirate of toddlers staring at her.

It was out of the weather and out of the snow, but it was still another rat maze. She wandered around the building, until a guard took pity on her and inquired if she was okay. She waved away his concern with a nervous laugh, then hesitantly asked for the Domyouji group offices. It was in an adjoining building, she gathered from his reply, and she thanked the man effusively. Then of course, she forgot to ask where exactly that other building was. . .

And ended up wandering into some kind of mall, terminating into an atrium under a stunning skylight, populated at its fringes by various restaurants and boutiques, and finally into a Starbucks. It was filled to brimming with people, so when she thought she saw him, she figured she must have been hallucinating. But then, that lordly tone of voice floating above the din of lively conversation, even in a another language, was just too singular, just too exasperating, just too reminiscent, and just too. . .

Him.

---

The first exit she managed to reach lead to a courtyard of sorts, blazing white with snow. Beside it was some body of water, drab and murky like the skies. It was along this she started to walk, following the metal railing that barred her from the water. She could hear his footfalls, a few feet behind her.

On her right were trees, most of them naked, frosted with ice. Behind and among them were various buildings—it looked like people lived in them. More proximal to her were park benches and unlit lantern posts, regularly spaced along the paved walkway. The snow still fell steadily, though she doubted a camera would be able to pick it up, had she somehow had one. She concentrated on making new foot prints on the carpet of snow, studiously avoiding the older ones, varying in stages of fading.

The balustrade had accumulated a good few inches of snow; on one spot, the woolly mantle was decorated by a few awkward letters, a name. She walked past this and chose an undisturbed area.

Ma ki no Tsu ku shi.

"That way, even a certain moron can read it," she muttered rather fiercely.

Her unwanted companion yawned theatrically, then brushed past her. He began writing on the snow, too, her name in Kanji.

"Well, that's. . ." she stammered. "If you don't know something that simple, you'd have another thing coming."

He merely gave her one of his blank expressions of superlative superiority, a look that was not quite a glare, not quite a sneer—he was too bored to commit his facial muscles to either. He walked on a few paces, then leaned against the railing, looking far out into the water.

Tsukushi thought she felt a vein pop. Even in the spartan trench coat that topped his expensive business suit, Ore-sama managed to look _he_ was somehow the victim.

She counted to ten and managed to keep from kicking him in the head. After all, she had already beaned him with a package of coffee a while ago, which caused had him to lose his balance and hit his head on the counter top, managing in the process to knock aside the labeled paper cups the barista had lined up an easily accessible area, spattering their steaming hot contents amongst the other patrons.

(That was actually why Tsukushi had ran out of the building.)

Instead, she leaned against the railing, as well, choosing a spot that judiciously kept a good distance between them. She looked at the sea and followed his line of vision. Through the fog she could make out a vague skyline. An island?

"Where are we?" she asked abruptly.

"Battery Park City," he answered.

"What's that across there?"

"Jersey City, New Jersey."

"How do you know?" she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Isn't that too common knowledge for Ore-sama to have? And why were you at Starbucks? Isn't that a commoner thing here in America?"

"I was trying to make Ore-sama more accessional to you."

"Accessible! It's accessible!"

"I meant, accessional," he said in the same uncharacteristically too-calm voice. He shifted and quirked an eyebrow at her. "What? That word's not a part of my chosen girl's vocabulary?"

Tsukushi sputtered, now even more imbalanced. "W-why. . . Wh—is that the Statue of Liberty?!"

Domyouji did not take well to her shoving him aside for a better view. "Yes, that's the Statue of Liberty!" he finally snapped. "It's been there for centurions!"

"Centurions? Then why didn't you point it out to me?" She tiptoed, moved around, and struggled to get a better view. "I can't see it from here! I'm moving closer."

She wasn't able to move, suddenly. He held her at an arm's length away by her upper arms, effectively pinning both to her sides. She stared at his serious expression, bewildered, bothered.

". . . why?" she croaked out.

"You weren't done vituperating me."

"Vi. . . vi. . . Wait. That word actually exists."

He rolled his eyes at her very, very slightly. "Of course. All the words I use exist."

"That's debatable, you know."

"Ask," he intoned imperiously.

"Alright, alright. Geeze! So impatient!"

He shook her lightly.

"What's up with that stupid treasure hunt thing?"

"I wanted you to experience the commoner way of getting to me."

"With thousands of dollars in my pockets?" She felt even colder think of it. "I actually feared for my life. And getting kidnapped and smuggled is hardly common."

"Uncommon?" he retorted. "Don't you read the newspaper?"

The question stumped her. "Why would I read American newspapers?"

He ignored that one. "Doesn't matter, anyway. You won."

". . . Oh, yeah." Then. "You are so full of it! How did you pull it off?"

"Ore-sama's secrets of operation."

"The creative vice-president?"

He shook her a little more vehemently this time. "Stubborn woman still not asking the right question," he growled.

"Okay, okay, okay!" Her head stopped wobbling. "Why did you bring me here?"

He snorted incredulously.

"Fair enough," she conceded. "Okay then. Aside from the fact Ore-sama can't live without little old me and is insane and arrogant and filthy rich enough to suddenly pluck ordinary, downtrodden, pathetically poor people from their usual and may I say hectic lives, is there anything specific you wanted?"

"An answer."

She froze. Her hammering heart was painfully conspicuous in the sudden, inner stillness.

"Too threatening?" He relinquished her.

"A. . . ah." Fervently, she wished her body wouldn't start getting weird on her. Knowing her luck, her stomach would probably start growling or she'd suddenly decided she wanted to tapdance for absolutely no reason. . . Oh, but she knew the real reason: the four years were over. It was much easier to feint, to dillydally from the eventual point they needed, wanted to reach. Easier to pull a stunt that would deflect the intensity of unwordable emotions, to something more defined like embarrassment or indignation or—

". . . Let's have lunch first."

She almost fell over. Almost. "Oh. A-all right." Her stomach growled empathically. "I am hungry."

He was reaching for his pocket. "I'll call for a car."

"What?" She recovered. "Why? You weakling! What's the use of those ridiculously long legs of yours if you don't use them? We didn't walk that far."

"You think?" He gestured behind them with an imperial toss of his head.

Their footsteps stretched far, far behind them, finally disappearing around a bend. She didn't even know which building they had originally come from. They were now in what seemed like a wharf of sorts, with a ferry boat chugging away some distance from it.

"Hey, don't stand there stupidly staring." He was already a few paces away from her.

"And don't stand there stupidly—stupidly. . . " She broke off with distaste, unable to come up with a satisfying retort. "Oh, just shut up."

Nonetheless, she jogged to where he was, brighter in spirits in spite of herself. We really was impossible most of the time, but sometimes. . . sometimes, he was_ just_ right. She latched on to an arm and yanked at it vindictively.

"Stupid woman getting scared and panicky. You should know I'll never let anything happen to you."

"Hey! If you're going to keep on doing that spying thing, I won't—"

"Who would want to spy on your bird-boned body?"

"Y-you pervert! I didn't mean spy that way!"

They walked on, forward.

End.

May 24, 2007 (4:22am)


	11. Rust

Disclaimer: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko. Borrowing.

Rust

_February 4 / when all the world dissolves_

They were a multitude, the raindrops.

They came in tiny, crowding slivers, bodiless serrations that carved up the world into words, gibberish. It was a wild night, but the massive ocean liner remained stoic in the face of the storm, bobbing up and down the irascible waters.

Domyouji Tsukasa, able to throw as destructive a tantrum, stood under the whipping rain, as if the last man standing, the lone survivor of the end. No steely resolve--he wasn't a martyr---and none of his towering self-confidence. It was a simple decision he finally made, for once, for somebody else's best.

"Do you think I need a man to be happy?" she demanded, shrill as the wind.

Amidst thunder and lighting, he was left gaping, left with a fatal notion:

She was right. Ore-sama wasn't just "a man."

The world continued to run, but the indigos and blues didn't wash away.

It stained.

020408 0137


	12. S C A R Take 2

Disclaimer: HYD is Kamio Yoko's. Only borrowing.

Summarized Chronicles of Adventuresome Romance, Take 2---He sends an escort this time

_February 15 / money can't buy love but it improves your bargaining position_

Makino Tsukushi was beginning to doze off in class when the nasal droning of the ancient college professor was interrupted by a respectful rap on the door. The rickety gentleman scratched at his mustache, pushed the slipping spectacles up his nose, and slowly made for the door. The visitor wasn't visible from where she sat, so Tsukushi couldn't see with whom the teacher seemed in deep discussion with. At any rate, it gave her time to catch up on note-taking, hastily scribbling down the lengthy material her teacher had miraculously populated with his tortoise speed (which then led to a couple of conclusions: one, she's been sleeping for several minutes, and two, that wet spot on her notebook was drool.)  
"Makino-san," came the voice that interrupted her mental regrouping. "You have a visitor."

Slightly puzzled, Tsukushi excused herself and began slinking out the classroom.

"Bring your things with you," her teacher said, freezing her on the spot. "I won't have the class interrupted twice. And don't forget; the submission of your second draft is next Thursday."

Tsukushi did as she was told, stuffing her things into her dogeared backpack. She made a final quizzical glance at her professor before shutting the door. Curious. The old man had been harping about that second draft for days and now he's extending the deadline by a whole week? Tsukushi shook her head. At least, she now had time to cram for that functional analysis test next---

"Ahem."

She stopped abruptly, remembering that she had been thrown out the classroom for having a visitor. Most of the time, she still couldn't figure out these people. Geeze. How complicated do they have to make her life?

"Makino-sama," the inoffensive man began earnestly. "I have correspondence for you."

Tsukushi blinked at the person in front of her, goggling at his neatly pressed business suit and professional appearance. He was probably in his late thirties, and otherwise nondescript. "If this is some sort of death threat. . ." she muttered, taking the folded piece of paper, anyway. In a neat handwriting, it stated the following:  
_  
Oi! You crazy, bad-tempered woman! _

"Domyouji," Tsukushi groaned. "I should have known.  
_  
I know I didn't get to call you on the usual date day, but is that any reason to ignore Ore-sama's phone calls and e-mails?!_

Her cellphone has been disconnected for about two weeks now and she never had internet connection in the first place. She had switched jobs early this year, and so she no longer had access to the office computers she used to sneak with during lull times. What he called their "date day" referred to the first Sunday night of the month, Sunday morning for him, wherein he was usually free to call her. She didn't know he didn't call since her phone was disconnected three days before that.  
_  
Never mind that. I know you're still alive because I had the F3 check on you_---is this bastard serious? _Today should be Valentines Day there. You're excused from your classes on Friday, Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday, and you will be recompensed for the days you miss work. Also, enclosed with this letter is an extension of one of Ore-sama's cards. Use it well._

As if on cue, the pleasant-seeming man handed her a rectangular metallic object she vaguely recognized as a credit card.

"Is he trying to buy me?!" Makino sputtered indignantly, turning a variety of shades. She tried to return it to the man.

"There's more, Makino-sama," he said respectfully. Instead of taking the card she insistently pressed to him, he handed her another sheet of paper. This one was written differently, with a far less legible hand and a couple of misspellings.  
_  
I'll kill you if you use it to get my _honmei choco_! Ore-sama wants it handmade with love from the woman he approves of.  
_  
Ore-sama's long-distance girlfriend went ballistic.

"That stupid Domyouji!" she barked out, suddenly marching her way down the corridor and down the ornate stairway in the College of Science building of prestigious Eitoku University. "That octopus head! I'll be the one doing some killing here! Who the hell does he think he is? As if I was actually planning to get him any kind of chocolate in the first place. That pig-headed, egotistic, self-satisfied son of a--"

"There's still more, Makino-sama," the gentleman timidly called out after her. "The last page."

She recovered a semblance of sanity and halted her descent with a huff. The man approached her carefully and handed her the last page.  
_  
If there's any spelling mistake in this letter, it's that guy's fault. I sent him to pick you up because it was his ass I had to save in that emergency board meeting that Sunday morning, which made me not call you, and made you mad. Ore-sama gives you permission to kick his ass._

"Isawa Shouhei, at your service." The man bowed low. "Until we arrive in New York, I will be the young mistress's personal assistant."

"Not to be rude to you, Isawa-san," Tsukushi said with another attempt at calming herself. "But you can tell that arrogant bastard that I--" She stopped abruptly, falling silent for a few moments, as if deep in thought.

"You say this can buy anything?" she inquired, holding up the black piece of metal.

"More or less," Isawa Shohei conceded. "But if you don't mind my presumption, I don't think it necessary. Our flight leaves at ten o'clock."

"That's two hours from now! Is he out of his---Gah! I'll kill him!"

"Yes, yes," the unruffled man murmured. "If we make it in time."

"What are we waiting for then?" Tsukushi asked with a feral smile. "I have lots to tell him---in person."

"That's the spirit, young mistress."

"Don't call me that!"

"Orders, sorry. And I shall carry that bag for you. You don't have time to pack so we will spend tomorrow morning shopping in Madison Avenue."

"I really will kill him."

"Fifth Avenue, if you prefer."

"Argh!"

1942 021508


	13. Diluted stories

Disclaimer: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko. No monetary gains are received on borrowing her story and characters.

Diluted Stories  
Jan 6, 2011: overheard in the newsroom

At 0135, it was reported to news centers in Tokyo, that a vehicle registered under the Domoyoji Financial Group was sighted careening at breakneck speed to the nearest Emergency Department. Nobody could verify which individual was being rushed to the hospital, but everyone assumed it was a very important person. Nobody could verify the reason, but everyone assumed the worst. The staff who took care of the mysterious patient kept valiantly mum in the face of generous monetary offers in exchange for the minutest information.

However, only a four-year-old's guileless comment was picked up by the media, as a young couple was leaving with him from the ER. The only problem was this: the little boy was brought to the hospital after tripping over his jammies and falling on his face. With his front teeth all out, everyone heard him differently.

"Tsukasa!" cried out Mimasaka Akira as he screeched to a stop in the Domyoji's living room. "What were you thinking bringing home a baby bear? Of course, even a beast like you will get chewed up by the mother!"

The shadowed leader of the Mimasaka trading group heard from his underground connections that the old F4 leader had attempted to capture a baby black bear from the wild, and had to be flown to Japan for extensive plastic surgery after he was stabilized in a Canadian hospital.

Nishikado Sojiro arrived just minutes after him, half running in spite of himself. "That idiot," he muttered. "What sort of sane person would get a spatula stuck down his throat? That Tsukasa needs to get his face punched in! Maybe he'll become more normal after."

The man of fine tastes in women, the master of the Nishikado school of the tea ceremony was both exasperated and beside himself when he heard from his current fling that his impossible friend had swallowed a spatula by accident and needed to have it removed from his throat by a specialist under sedation. Apparently, he was trying to feed his son, had put the spoon in his mouth while trying to get the child positioned better, and had panicked when the baby spat up.

"Nishikado-san!" came the alarmed voice of Matsuoka Yuki. "Is it true? I heard Dai-chan was running a 42 degree fever. I came as fast as I can."

Actually, that was the most plausible story they all heard so far, but it wasn't always the most plausible that turned out to be true when it came to one Domyouji Tsukasa.

"Oh my God, Tsukishi-chan!" they heard the hysterical voice of Ookawahara Shigeru even before they even reached Tsukasa's rooms. "I am so sorry! I can't believe Tsukasa was silly enough to think reindeers really fly. How many bones did he fracture, really? Don't spare me. Is he going to be a vegan all his life now?"

"Rest assured, Shigeru-chan," Sakurako interrupted. It sounded like she was conferencing on the call from elsewhere. "He'll still be a handsome corpse."

"Oh, don't say that, Sakurako! I'm flying out first thing in the morning. Oooh, of all the times for Papa to use the Concord!"

They opened the door to the disinterested face of Hanazawa Rui, who was footing his cellphone farther from where he was sprawled.

"Rui!" the two other members of the Flower 4 exclaimed in unison. "How's Tsukasa?"

Rui gestured vaguely. "See for your selves," he said. "I'll tell you this much: he wasn't skewered by a dozen reindeers nor is he now cryogenically preserved."

Mollified by the lack of panic in their friend (though a little weirded out by what the other two girls apparently heard), they made their way to Domyoji's bedroom.

"Oh, hi, everyone!" Tsukushi, looking very well and bouncing her healthy-looking child on her knees, greeted them when they came in. "It's nice that everyone's visiting," she said, somewhat confused. "Just a little late in the day… but I suppose it's normal for you rich bastards. And Yuki?" The weed girl raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you decide you weren't going to be 'friends' with Nishkado-san, anymore?"

Yuki flushed but ignored this. "I heard Dai-chan was having seizures from a very high fever," she said earnestly. "He's better now, right?"

"Dai-chan had a slight fever yesterday. It's probably from teething."

"Tsukasa didn't try to steal a baby bear from the wild?" Akira said.

"He would do that, wouldn't he?" murmured Tsukushi with a frown. "But nope. Not today."

"Let me guess," Soujirou said unenthusiastically. "He swallowed a spoon."

"Well, yeah."

The two men groaned.

"He managed to cough it up though. It wasn't pretty."

Everyone but Tsukushi and Rui, who had just entered to room and took the child from his mother, exchanged confused looks.

"So," Yuki said. "What happened to Domyouji-san then?"

"He sprained his ankle," Rui said with a sigh, he walked past them and opened the door to the adjoining room. "See? He's not dead."

Tsukasa was sulking in his gargantuan bed, propped up in pillows. His splinted leg was elevated by folded blankets, while on his head was a bag of ice. He merely glowered in ill-humor at his visitors.

"He has a bump from hitting his head on the high chair, and 1st degree burns on his chest, where the porridge dripped," Rui continued.

Tsukushi had to leave the room at this point. For some reason, she couldn't stop snickering.

"I don't see what's so funny, woman!" her husband burst out indignantly. "Can't you see the bread-whiner is out of omission for the next few days?"

"You weren't eaten by a bear?" Akira sounded just a tad deflated.

"He tripped on a teddy bear," Rui supplied, as the teddy bear's owner chewed on his arm.

"And why did your SPs have to cover your head?"

"Oh, the reindeer-head paper mache got stuck on his head."

"Rui!" his best friend warned dangerously.

"He was trying to get Dai-chan to eat so he put Shigeru's reindeer head-that costume thing she sent all of us last year-over his. He couldn't see, so he tripped and fell. They had to cut the thing out of him in the hospital."

"I like the swallowed-a-spatula story better," Soujiro announced, now bored. He took his godchild from Rui and walked him to the window for more interesting sights.

"What kind of an uncool loser do you think I am?" Tsukasa demanded. "Of course, nothing like that will happen."

"Tsukushi just said it did."

"… MAKINO, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN MAKING UP, YOU LITTLE-!"

"And I thought you were mauled by a bear," Akira said, cutting off his friend's outburst. "Tsukushi didn't seem surprised when I suggested it. Don't tell me you've tried to get a real live bear for Dai-chan before."

"What? Who made up that—Well, so what? The great son of the great one has to have the best of everything!"

Yuki just shook her head and left the boys to their fun. She went out to her friend who had fallen asleep on her rocking chair. Yuki laughed to herself and draped a blanket over the exhausted mother and wife.

"The tabloids will never do your crazy life justice, will they, Tsukushi?"

01062011 2045


	14. On Her Fingers

Disclaimer: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko. No monetary gains are received on borrowing her story and characters.

On Her Fingers

_Jan 8, 2011 / Tomorrow I will have no shame_

The gilding on the bedside table was minutely detailed to mimic the blushing shade of each petal shyly peeping from a rosebud, newly opening. They looked velvety, exquisite, but she knew one touch would reveal a cold and hardness that would shatter the illusion.

Today, there was no such pretension. Yuki was wide-awake and fully aware she was not in the midst of a dream. That fact didn't bother her, because she also knew that it wasn't part of a business transaction nor was it an act of charity kindly handed by virtue of acquaintance. This was an agreement between friends, to grasp the moment and live each second to the fullest.

The pain of first joining was tearing and poignant, for all that it didn't represent, but it was just pain, and it vanished gradually and torturously to fade into a barely hidden ache.

That, too, would fade in time.

Yuki knew, first hand, that entering their world was near impossible; she was there to see all that Tsukushi had suffered through. Still, the notion echoed every girl's dream (admitted willingly or not) of being plucked out of obscurity to marry a man who had everything. She had no such wish. That illusion existed outside the pure, despairing adoration she had for this boy, who claimed he wasn't a good man. While she had not earned the right to convince him otherwise, one day, she hoped, he would come to terms to the fact that he _is_. And she would smile and wish him well, on the day when finally has his _ichigo ichie_, and depart from the moment newly complete.

(Because she couldn't believe there was but one for anybody, call it misnomer, miscomprehension from her average brain, certainly not for him.)

Her _ichigo ichie_ moment would end in the morning, when sunlight finally encroaches the tiny spaces in the heavy drapes that enclosed time to this single moment. Tomorrow, she would let go and remember the feel of it on the pads of her fingers, the back of her knees, the arches of her feet, remember it as long as necessary to forget.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, curious just for the sake of being curious. "Did my delivery of the Prince of Dreams Package exceed all your expectations?"

It would likely define all else the rest of her life, but she didn't tell him this.

"Y-you might have missed a spot," she said with a boldness that she was, in fact, feeling.

"How remiss of me," he murmured. "Where?"

A spot in the small of her back, she pointed, and several other places. He laughed and graciously filled all wants.

"You know," he said, much later. "If you can tutor the virgin girl in your exacting ways, we'd have the beast tamed and caged."

"Nishikado-san!" she shrieked in amused embarrassment at the thought of her friend and his friend in such positions-ironic, considering the position she was in with their friend.

People, she supposed, were strange like that. She let the thought pass.

Tomorrow morning, she would touch the burnished rosebud on the bedside table and remember that no magic was woven in that room, no high destiny fulfilled. The moment would stay there, wherever else the whirl of life and love led, stay there in that moment, on the pads of her fingers.

End 22:20 01082011

Oh, Yuki. Her face when she runs up all those long stairways makes me... The manga moment seems so happy, but still… "Good writing" dictates that their moment stays like that, nothing dragging behind and cleanly cut like her hair, but the fangirl refuses to accept it. D:

I couldn't remember how Sojiro's voice goes for the life of me, so I just infused him with all the powers of playboy I could scrounge up.


	15. Sawdust

Disclaimer: Hana Yori Dango is the property of Kamio Yoko. No monetary gains are received on borrowing her story and characters.

Sawdust

_January 19, 2011 / the dusty corners of my brain_

Used to getting his way with little resistance, Domyoji Tsukasa can't stand anything he can't master, be it a person or a concept, a skill or a thought. Anger is an easy reaction, for it gives results as swiftly as he can summon it. People have been trying to placate him with the stupidest platitudes as far as he can remember, and to that, his answer is an even fiercer rage.

His friends are wrong, but he can't explain why he despised those desperate, dog-like eyes set before him. He doesn't know how he knows that her callused grip is strong for her little girl shapelessness. He can't explain why his thighs tensed at the sight of her slim legs, why he knew her skinniness will both hurt him and drive him crazy. He shuts his eyes against the flash of her nose against his, much too close to not be some mistake. They are wrong because these images stand alone, stay briefly, and go away to leave bits of her to scatter in his brain like sawdust.

She is a conundrum worthy of a thousand temper tantrums, so they had to be wrong.

He'd have remembered someone like her.

End 2208 01192011


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